Cheap
by intergalacticbooty
Summary: Wrestling Kink Meme Prompt: "seth taunts/emotionally manipulates/otherwise persuades dean to dress up in lacy lingerie for him and lipstick, and then proceeds to absolutely wreck him. all while using she pronouns for dean and talking to/about him like he's a woman."
Back in their Shield days, Seth had always given Dean something that Roman couldn't. Something primal, rough, and grounding that made the sandy-haired man come to life. Something that reminded him of his place, that no matter how far he came from the dirty slums of Cincinnati, he was still the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth. And he needed that, needed it badly.

Roman has become more distant, first surgery and now his one track mind switching to main eventing Mania and tormenting Triple H. It's admirable, Dean thinks, but it aches to be alone. Which is what prompts Dean to call that number, the number he hasn't dared to even look at on his phone in nearly two years.

"Well, well, well…Mr. Ambrose. Fancy you calling me." 'Serpent', Dean instantly thinks. 'Seth is a goddamn snake and I need to hang up right now'. "Don't hang up, boy. I know you're calling for a reason, so you might as well get it done and over with."

"For the record, fuck you." Dean growls out, rubbing his hand over a jean-clad leg as he waits in the empty hotel room. Too empty. "But I, shit, Seth…I don't like doing this, don't like asking for this kinda shit…b-but I need, fuck…you know what I need."

"Yeah I do, baby boy…" That nickname stings and the statement is followed by a cruel, gut-deep laugh as Dean can hear Seth shifting, probably adjusting his leg. "…but what the fuck do you think you're doing calling me for it? Huh? You think you can just demand something of me? Shit, Dean, it's been damn near two years since I dropped your asses…pathetic. You thought garbage like yourself is even worth my time? I fucked up my knee, Dean, not my head. Unlike someone in this conversation. " And it makes Dean's heart ache, his stomach drop. How could he be so stupid? Would Seth tell Roman? Was he recording this conversation?

"I-I…dunno what I thought…" Dean is stammering, his hands shaking as the phone nearly vibrates against his ear. "…I needed and I thought…"

"You thought wrong." It's cold, quick and to the point and sting more than Dean being called garbage, being called fucked in the head. Being ignored and left to his devices, being alone…that's what hurts.

"P-Please, Seth…" And he hasn't begged in so long, never has to beg Roman but then again Roman only gives him half of what he needs. So invested in this, thinking that he'll fall to pieces before Mania if he doesn't get this. There's silence on the other end and Dean thinks Seth might have hung up, but as he inhales a shaky breath and feels unshed tears begin to form the younger male finally speaks.

"How's about we make a deal, Ambrose." His voice is dangerous like this, Dean remembers it as his punishment voice, the tone he took when he scolded them for arguing and who took no qualms in laying on thick how angry he was. "You know I have…acquired tastes. But you've only seen the surface of it. It's hard to go out and find women to lay when you're rehabbing. Even whores."

Dean nods, feeling a bit stupid knowing that Seth can't see him, but he makes an affirmative humming noise to follow up. Did he want Dean to pick up a lady for him? That wouldn't be tough, but it made Dean rather dejected. It wasn't what he needed.

"So, I hear you guys are coming to Iowa for Smackdown next week. How about you call and tell me what hotel you're staying in. I'll get a room and call you and tell you what number. You bring your ass down, alone, and we have fun with a sweet little whore. I call the shots, you do what I say. And if you pussy out, use that safe word of yours." It comes out quick in a flurry of words, so unlike Seth's normal controlled pacing but Dean's heart flutters. He hates the idea of sharing time and effort with Seth on some random skank, but if it means he gets what he wants…gets that grounding and attention then goddammit he's going to take it.

"You got yourself a deal, scumbag." A dimpled smirk graces his lips before he hangs up.

Dean texted the hotel to Seth earlier that night, before Smackdown, and heard nothing back. It makes his stomach flip flop in the most disgusting manner. Had it been a lie? Had he gotten his hopes far too up? Was Seth planning something the Ohioan would never live down? It was a wonder he'd gotten through that tag match with Roman, but back at the hotel all these horrible thoughts came crashing down.

"Dean!" Finally burrows it's weigh through his clouded mind as a towel clad Roman shakes his shoulder.

"W-Wha…"

"You're super zoned out, man. Been like this all day. You alright, uce?"

"'S fine…just waiting on somethin'…" He mumbles a little, keeping his phone in his hand as the weight of Roman's hand leaves his shoulder, the Samoan beginning his extensive hair care ritual. Dean clasps his hands under his chin, eyes sliding shut as he tries to hide the anxiety crawling through his cells. So lost in thoughts, repeating over and over how dumb this was, that he nearly dropped his phone when the text tone went off. 'Room 607' the text read, clearly from Seth's number. He was 3 floors above Dean and Roman's and for that the auburn haired male was grateful. "Yo, Ro. I'ma head out, okay?"

"Be safe, call me if you need a DD or something." The Samoan replies without missing a beat. Dean could always depend on him for support, for love and encouragement. It was sickeningly sweet at times, though. And with that, Dean grabs his leather jacket and is gone in a flash.

'Room 607' in the gaudy golden lettering is traced by Dean's long finger. He hasn't seen Seth in months and even when he did it was to kick his ass. But Dean wants, no, needs this…even if he'll be sharing his time with Seth with some bimbo, he'd still hopefully get some of that grounding. Finally courage builds up enough for him to knock 3 times, a bit frustrated at himself with how loud and anxious they sound. There's shifting behind the door, a bit of dragged walking as Seth's injured leg slides across the floor carefully.

"Didn't think you'd have the balls to show up." Arms crossed over that cross-fit toned chest, a toothy grin showing as Seth flashes his gap. "…Well, c'mon in, Dean." His name is uttered with venom and the older male swaggers in. It's a defense, keeping that posture, trying his hardest to be in control when he's everything but.

"Wasting money on a goddamn hotel room, a penthouse suite. The fuck's the point when you live, like…not even 10 miles away?" Dean snorts, carelessly dropping down into one of the fancy chairs.

"The penthouse is for me, smartass. But I'm not taking cheap whores to my home or in my bed. Don't want them dirtying it up." He quite literally looks down his nose at Dean, before partially limping back to the king size bed with a sigh.

"Speaking of whores…where's your lady friend at?" Dean's thrumming his fingers against his collarbone, before beginning to rub it there. It had become a habit he adapted as a child, something that never went away in his nervous times. Did her not being here mean Seth lied? Or were there are other plans in store? Would Seth use him with just them alone? Or would they just be stuck waiting for her?

Seth sucks his teeth then, leaning over and taking the pristine crystal glass filled with water and placing it back on the small table. "Ahhh…" He breathes out dramatically and there's a dangerous glint in his eye, something Dean can't read but that makes his spine tingle. Then they're staring at one another, Dean all nervous jitters and Seth a sweet little grinning goon. Dean wants to punch him in the face. "I'm looking right at her."

"The fuck you talking about, Rollins?" Ambrose bursts up from the chair, fists clenching at his side as his jaw is drawn tight. "What game are you trying to play, huh?"

"C'mere, Dean…" Seth is calm, cool, and collected and it gets under Ambrose's skin. He pats the side of the bed next to him slowly, a small smile gracing his lips. Dean just has to follow orders, doesn't he? He just has to sit down on the too soft bed as Seth demands because he needs that grounding, needs what this man can give to him. "…you agreed not to question me. You made this deal. You back out now and I promise you will never, ever get anything from me again."

Dean can almost feel his heart cracking in two, fighting the urge to scream 'No' and plead at the two-toned man's feet. But he can't, has to keep somewhat of a spine. It's all an illusion, regardless and they both know it. He clears his throat, back straightening as he refuses to give Seth the satisfaction of his gaze. "W-What'd you have in mind?" His voice a rasp of desperation and desire.

"Exactly what I said. You'll be my 'lady friend', as you put it, for tonight. I've got all the supplies right here." Seth then leans over the side of the bed, revealing a Walmart and Dollar Store bag, the contents not visible from Dean's position. "At first…" He begins rather casually as he pulls out make up from the Dollar Store bag and Dean's brain is shortcircuited, he's incapable of forming words as he nearly gawks. "…I was going to buy nice things. MAC lipstick like my ex liked, Victoria Secret for clothes or maybe even something fancier." Seth chuckles at the bulging of Dean's eyes as he spins a tube of Wet N' Wild lipstick between his fingers. "But then I figured, cheap whores don't get nice things, right?"

Dean sucked in a breath then, leaning away from Seth as he clenches at his jeans. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. And Dean shouldn't be loving it. Lost in his thoughts of the 100th time that night, Dean barely registers Seth moving until there's a loud, echoing smack against his face.

"Cheap whores are apparently stupid bitches, too." He's growling, but there's a playful grin there as he clutches Dean's cheeks between his thumb and fingers, making Dean's thin lips squish outwards. "Then again, if you were actually smart you wouldn't be selling yourself for just the most basic things. Like food, hmm? Now answer me: cheap whores don't get nice things, right?"

"N-No, we…we don't." His voice is foreign to his own ears, but when he finally looks up from disheveled, ginger locks he's greeted with the largest grin on Seth's face he's seen in years. God, yes.

"Good girl…" He coos and the female pet name causes Dean to twitch, but he doesn't protest. Because he's good and that's good enough for the older male.

"Now, I know you've had a whore for a mother, sweetheart, so I don't think I need to tell you how to put these things on." Seth begins shoving the makeup back into the Dollar Store bag, shoving it and the Walmart bag into Dean's arms. "You go into that nice bathroom…" He cackles then to himself for a moment. "…it's honestly bigger than any apartment you've had. But anyways, you go in there and doll yourself up. And you'd better be ready in 20 minutes or our game is done. " He motions Dean away, making a disgusted expression as if he's sick of him and then the time registers to Dean, snapping him out of his daze as he scrambles, shutting the bathroom door beyond him in a flurry.

Memories of sitting in front of the cracked bathroom mirror as Dean, then 10 years old, holds his mom's make up bag ran through his mind. It was an old, tattered thing and the make up inside wasn't much better. A lot of the eyeshadows had blended together into an ugly shade of green gray, the lipstick down to the very nubs or smushed against the caps too often, and the foundation was far too light for his mom's complexion. But still, something in Dean boiled to play with it, the small hints of glitter and color catching his eye. Later that night, his Mom's hand would catch his face, repeatedly, as she took out the newest beating of a John on her 'newly faggot son'.

The bathroom looks like the old-fashioned rooms in brothels of Western films and Dean laughs bitterly at the irony, wondering if it was intentional on Seth's part. It IS huge, though, Jacuzzi, sliding door shower, massive counter space and everything from bubble bath to $500 blowdryers are neatly assembled in the bathroom. In his torn jeans and dingy leather jacket, Dean does feel like a cheap slut.

Quickly he begins to take the components out of the Dollar Store bag, finding blush and mascara along with the other things Seth had shown him earlier. He decides the make goes on later, because he is a stupid slut but he's not that stupid and knows that he should try his hardest not to smear his lipstick.

Clothes discarded in a flash, Dean reaches for the Walmart bag and his mouth runs dry at its contents. There's surprisingly discreet panties there, semi-transparent in the front and a thong in the back. He slides it in slowly, finding the cheap, imitation-silk to actually be soothing against his, Jesus Christ, half-hard cock. Next the pantyhose follows, fishnet of course. It sits a little high, Dean lacking the wide hips to properly fill out the waistband, but his muscular thighs stretch the manufactured holes to their limits. Then follows the top, fully transparent. It has no sleeves or straps which Dean finds peculiar but the tapered middle rests tightly at the expansion of his muscular back. Maybe he should have shaved, but then again…cheap whores might not have money for such things. His gingery body hair was a stark contrast to the bizarrely classy and yet inexpensive design of the outfit Seth had picked out. He rummages further, revealing dangling black earrings (thank god his piercing holes hadn't closed), a leather black choker that was tad too tight, and black heels that are higher than any boot Dean has ever worn. Shit, they must make him a good 6'8 if he puts them on and decides then it will be the last thing he slides on.

Next is make up and his hands are shaking as he picks up the eyeliner first, beginning to frame those baby blues and he thinks the lines are too thick, but wonders it feels right, feels like he should cover as much of his shortcomings with as much of this 99 cent make up as he can. He has to try and be pretty for his John, doesn't he?

"10 minutes, princess!" Is called through the surprisingly thin bathroom door the causes Dean to drop the eyeliner right as he finished with the second bottom wing. He takes in a deep breath, relieved at the fact he still had time before he picks up the eyeshadow. They're beautiful, each color still distinct and glittery and perfect as he snaps the plastic open, deciding the gaudiest blue would fit best. He has blue eyes, right? Although he finds himself rather frustrated as it seems to fail to become even, but gives up when he realizes he's been taking too long.

Mascara follows, then the reddest shade of blush possible because his pale skin demands color, part of him wishing he had sweet, demure freckles flightingly. Dean's so consumed by the task he fails to take into consideration the bizarreness of the situation, the foreignness of the scratchy material against his body, but the tremor in his hands as he picks up the lipstick, red as sin, makes it real. The unpops the cap slowly, the smell of something artificial and plastic filling his nose before he tilts it up, reading 'Stoplight Red 911D' on the bottom. It's almost blood colored, but a shade too bright as he tries to outline and cover his thin lips in a sensuous manner and ends up having to draw in a cupid's bow above his thin upper lip as he grows frustrated with his physical shortcomings.

Dean then stars, shocked at what's staring back at him. He hadn't truly paid attention, focusing on each feature separately and expects to see a clown looking back at him, but instead he looks…pretty. Oh, he's pretty. And he loves it and it causes something weird to flip flop inside of him. He can be good…no, she can be good. Because she's pretty. She does the best she can and she'll be good for Seth. Dean smiles then, deciding the blush compliments his dimples well before he rubs his hands against his bare arms, deciding that the scar tissue on his shoulder showing is okay because of the top accents just how tiny his waist is.

"One minute, baby girl!"

Dean flushes at the nickname and for a moment he imagines Roman calling him that, knows its normal lingo for him and how weird it must taste coming from Seth's tongue. But before he becomes lost again inside his dumb whore head, he slides on the heels that fit fantastically well, as if Seth measured his feet for them, and is slowly sliding the bathroom door open. He's ready to be a good girl.

"Oh my." Seth breathes out, as if he's complimenting a puppy on performing a trick instead of staring at his rival dressed as a $50 hussy. Seth has since changed for the occasion as well, hair slicked back into a tight bun and an all-black suit framing his fit and muscular form. He closes the vertical dresser's door then, as he was busy adjusting his tie in the full length mirror.

"D-Do you like it?" Dean says rather meekly, feeling self-conscious over the brown gaze trailing down his form. His hand is not so discreetly covering his half-stiff, panty clad cock.

"Not sure yet…" Seth walks surprisingly stable for someone wearing uncomfortable dress shoes and a rehabbing a fucked up knee, but he settles for sitting in the velvet chair, analyzing Dean further. "Hands at your side, baby, let me see all of you." Dean only hesitates for a moment, shame flooding him as Seth laughs aloud. "…haven't even touched you yet and your clit is already so hard. What an easy woman you are."

"I-I'm sorry…I can't help myself." Dean shivers, the words slipping between his painted lips. It comes too easy, too naturally, and somewhere inside he wonders how long he's needed this to be feel grounded. "B-But I can be a good bitch for you. I can be a good girl."

"I know you will be, so why don't you crawl your little self over here and suck my cock." It's straight down and to the point and Dean's scrambling then, the heels bending his feet at an unnatural angle even on all fours as he arches his spine, pushing his ass out and bowing his slender hips forward. Seth deserves the best show from the cheapest slut. Dean unzips Seth with trembling hands, leaning in and lapping him to full hardness. "Damn, honey, got a nice tongue on you…" The younger male sighs, petting through Dean's hair. "Makes up for that gnarly face you've got."

And something shatters in Dean. Because he isn't pretty even though he tried so hard. He wants to be so pretty for Seth, but he's ugly. But that doesn't mean he's a bad girl, right? No, no, he can be useful and soon he doubles his efforts, going from soft and hesitant licks to gagging on Seth's cock, swallowing him down to the base of his length.

"Shit, fuck, sweetheart…damn!" Seth gasps out, eye's bulging as he digs his hands into Dean's reddish brown mop of locks. Then he grins, a light bulb going off in his head as he keeps the head bobbing in earnest suddenly still. "I'm gonna fuck this throat of yours, honey. Best prepare yourself…although I'm sure if a woman like yourself can take me down like that, then it's not the first time you've done it." He chuckles then, before snapping his hips forward. Dean sits there, heels uncomfortably digging into the back of his thighs as he becomes nothing but a willing hole. Spit and pre-cum and the faint crayon taste that he assumes is his lipstick as his jaw stretches around Seth's pristine, caramel-colored cock. Seth is the pretty one, no…the handsome man. Dean is just an ugly bitch for him to use.

Dean's clit is so hard and he knows it's leaking. He hopes he's still a good girl despite it, but when Seth pulls his cock out finally and slumps back down the chair, Dean knows he loses good girl points as he leans to the side, vomiting a small amount of stomach acid. "M-My lipstick, t-the carpet, I'm sorry, Seth, I'm sorry…" He's disheveled and a mess and he knows it and knows he's in trouble when Seth bunches up a handful of his hair, tugging at it in a manner that makes Dean's sensitive scalp ache. He's slapped once, twice, three times before his hair is let go.

"It's sir, sweetheart. I know a dirty harlot like you would pull trash like this." He says coldly before stroking a finger just underneath the waistband of Dean's tights. "And I think it's time we put this cunt of yours to good use, hmm?"

Dean's never used that term during sex, not with any woman or man and if his skin wasn't a reddened mess already, he's sure as the day is long that it is now. He scrambles up to his knees once more before he's directed to sit in the chair next to Seth. It's too pretty, real velvet and it doesn't fit Dean once bit, but he slides onto the soft material, letting out a small sigh.

"Ass up and head down, girly." Seth lets out a noise between a chuckle and a hum as he tugs on the thong, pulling it impossibly high between Dean's crack before the older male lets out an undignified squeak. "At least you're pretty back here." It's a near coo and pride blossoms in Dean's chest then. So, he can be a good girl.

Next thing Dean knows, his pantyhose is torn and the thong is pulled to the side and Seth is letting out hot breath over his clenching hole. "O-Oh, sir…" Dean breathes out, eyes that were once drawn tightly shut snapping open when he feels a tongue against his a-….cunt. "…oh, God, sir."

Seth is smirking then, before he leans in further, continuing his ravenous licking of Dean's most intimate little spot and heat boils up the former champion's spine. That hole is sloppy in near moments, Seth's pretty sure this little whore must have played with herself earlier to already be so loose. He feasts a little while longer, the thong firmly stuck to the side and leaving a red line against his thigh. Then follows the lube and Seth starts with two fingers, copiously coating them and shoving the lube inside.

Dean's panting indecently now, angling his ass up higher, getting that hole stretched and dripping wet just right. He…she's good. She's a good girl and she can take more, even more so as a sweet spot is brushed against inside of him. "Sir, unh…my cunt, I…oh, please fuck my slutty little cunt. I made sure it was nice and clean f-for you, sir…"

A smack against his bare ass cheeks causes Dean to hiss, his spine buckling slightly. "Nothing could make this dirty little pussy clean, but I like you. I'll make sure you're nice and cleaned out, baby…" Dean doesn't know what he means, but Seth likes him and he's going to be a sweet and obedient slut as he relaxes into a third finger. Then a fourth. And now it's starting to hurt a little and Dean is squirming.

"W-Wha…sir, w-what are you…o-oh!" Dean's hips stutter, pre-cum leaking through cheap panties as he's stimulated too much, his hole being stretched in a manner that he's never felt before and suddenly he realizes his eyes are wet and he's mad at himself because he can feel mascara beginning to crust with his rapidly blinking lashes.

"I'm cleaning you out, darling…with my fist." And Dean couldn't stop the howl that escapes him if he bit into his lip until it bled. Because suddenly there's a thumb popped in his reddened, leaking pussy and then there's a fist. It's so big, so round and thick and Seth is punching him inside.

"O-Ohh…gguh…." Dean can't even form words. Dog collar matches. Going through tables. Thumbtacks. Seth's betrayal. He'd never felt as broken down and raw as he did at this very moment, wearing cheap Walmart lingerie and Seth's massive hand spreading his filthy cunt wide.

"That's it, baby..." Wet squelching noises fill the room along with Dean's panicked breaths as that hand pumps in and out, Seth making it to his wrist before her hole starts spasming and Dean's thighs beginning twitching violently. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dean's emptied and he knows then and there he'll never be the same again.

Twitching violently Dean wiggles slightly, feeling blown open and sloppy, legs trembling at the ache the heels have dug into the back of his legs. Before he can fully readjust, though, suddenly the mouth of the bottle of lube is pushed slightly into his aching hole and he cries then, tears falling freely in a silent sniffle. The cool, liquid substance soothes the burn slightly and Dean's head falls back against that too expensive velvet.

"You're so wet for me, sweetheart, look at you…" Seth's voice is so sweet, so intimate and kind and for the first time that night, he kisses Dean. It's wet and sloppy and gross and Dean sees the cheap red smeared over Seth's mouth, feels the mixture of spit and pre-cum dripping from his mouth and he loves it.

"A-Always wet for you, always yours, sir…" Dean coos out, petting at the side of Seth's face with a small smile. She's a good girl. But as soon as her finger brushes against Seth's bearded jaw a look of pure disgust fills those chocolate pools and he's tugged violently up by her ginger locks.

"Stupid fucking bitch..." He growls, Dean's legs absolutely jelly and his back bending back painfully on trembling heeled feet as he's slammed against the vertical dresser once, then twice. "…who FUCKING SAID YOU COULD TOUCH ME?" And Dean forgot his safe word. He honest to god forgot it and decides that even if he did remember it, he wouldn't say it. Because this is what he deserves. Were he belongs for thinking he's worthy of touching a man like Seth. He's just a lowly streetwalker, after all. "I need to show you, show you what you really are."

The older male is shoved to the bed for a moment, the vertical dresser yanked open until the full body mirror is in view and Dean gasps. He's a slut. A complete and utter whore and there's no hiding it now. No amount of leather jackets or torn jeans of teen girls screaming for him and grown men wanting to be him will change what he is now. He can see his hole, gaping and leaking lube and there's a bite mark over his nipple that he's sure Seth gave him but doesn't remember when now revealed as the top slides beneath his chest, his clit-cock is obscenely poking out and dripping against the dainty imitation silk, and his makeup…oh, his makeup is a mess. There's a line of lipstick spreading across half of his face, almost simulating Joker's facepaint and he'd laugh if he wasn't so shocked. There's mascara staining his cheeks and that pretty blue his halfway across his forehead.

"C'mon, bitch…" Seth tugs at the strap of Dean's left heel, pulling him up and pinning him against the mirror, beginning to smear more lipstick over his mouth and when did Seth get that from the bathroom? Not that it matters now, because Dean is an ugly slut made for nothing but to function as a fuckhole for a strong man like Seth. His oversensitive hole is breached again, this time by Seth's searing cock and he's graced with the image of himself in ripped up, slutty clothes and Seth still fully dressed in a pristine, crisp suit and it aches and causes him to freshly begin to sob at how right, how just this is. "That's right, lil slut…"

"Fuck me harder, sir, please, please!" He's sobbing now, hair being yanked by the hand not shoving lipstick messily around his mouth and he's being fucked into rough and hard against the ice cold mirror greeted with the fogging surface as Seth's hips turn into a messy jackhammer, slamming rougher and rougher, wet, slick noises and the sound of their coupling burning itself into the deep recesses of Dean's broken, stupid head.

And then he's coming, wet and stick as his untouched cock is slammed against the mirror, the lipstick being let go in favor of Seth hiking his leg up, Dean struggling to balance on one heeled foot as his cunt is absolutely hammered, stinging and aching and throbbing and soon he's full of his John's come. Oh, he's a good girl. He's ugly and stupid but he's a good girl and he's so, so happy. Even as Seth steps back and lets him fall to the ground, staring down at him with that gapped grin. And then Dean feels a something warm and wet in his hair and realizes Seth's pissing on him. And it's fitting, isn't it? He's garbage, after all…no different than pissing outside a dive bar.

"T-Thank you, sir…" Dean stammers, eyes slowly peeling open in time to see Seth tucking himself into those pants that cost more than Dean's rent.

And then Seth slides his wallet out, taking out a wad of singles and unwrapping a rubberband keeping them tight, and throws them over Dean's shivering form. "Good girl, such a good fucking girl…my sweet little filthy princess."

Blue eyes slide shut contently, taking in the feel of the ground, the smell of piss and cum and cheap make up and for a moment he's at peace. Where he belongs…grounded and reminded of his place. Until he hears the snapping of a cell phone. Seth is taking pictures of him and Dean's heart has fallen to his stomach.

Dean barely manages to stand up, ass a blaring red alarm of pain and his ankles hurt and it takes all of his balance not to slip in the pissed on carpet. "S-Sir, why…" There's anger in him, but…but something is broken in Dean. Why isn't he pummeling Seth's nose in and shoving that cell phone down his throat? He…he can't. Because Seth owns him in a way he can't imagine. He knows if those pictures get out no one will ever want him…not even CZW and certainly not WWE. But he's not fighting it, tears smudging his make up further as his flight response initiates for what he feels could be the very first time in his life.

"Like mother like daughter, huh? All this success…making more money than your dumbass can count to to and you're still just a whore's kid." Seth is all teeth then and Dean's scrambling, forgetting his jacket and phone and wallet and he's out the bedroom door.

It's late and deep down he knows he should be scared that the noise he's making will wake others but he runs to the stairs, slipping on the first step as the cheap heel nearly snaps and he hits his arm in a manner he's sure will leave a bruise but he doesn't care. Slipping and nearly falling in a half nude mess, tears staining his face as hysteric sobs fill the empty stairwell. The three flights blur together easily as the heels clack on the solid marble and then he's outside his and Roman's door and slamming his open palms against it, sobbing violently.

"Who the fuck…" And grey eyes are wide and trailing around erratically, trying to take in the sight of his best friend, his uce, a complete and destroyed mess of women's lingerie and make up. But what's more concerning is the tears falling down his face. Dean Ambrose don't fucking cry and Roman is pulled out of his trance, pulling in his friend inside and shoving their door shut. "Dean, oh, Dean…" He says softly, tilting Dean's head down gently to nuzzle their foreheads together. No questions asked, Roman never does. "…it's okay, I'm here, and I got you." And he sits Dean down on the shared queen, leaning down to take off the painful looking heels.

"I was a good girl…" Dean rambles and Roman says nothing, hands gentle and patient as he begins to take off the wrecked lays of lace and silk. "…I was a good girl and I took his fist in my cunt and he called me princess. I'm stupid and ugly but I took it good for him." And there's a lump building in Roman's throat as he slides that thong off, revealing a stretched out and cum dripping hole. "I-I thought I was good, why did…why did he…"

And then Roman pulls the shirt off, followed by the tarnished earrings and leather choker, leaving Dean bare with the only trace of the night's events being that messy make up. "You are good, Dean, so good…" Roman assures him, rubbing their noses together in such an affectionate manner. "You're beautiful and brilliant…" The Samoan says firmly but softly, running a hand through Dean's hair and then down his face. "…how about we get you washed up, huh?"

In a small haze Dean is moved from the bed to a warm bath tub full of bubbles and strong, tattooed arms wash off the filth of 'her', bringing him back to life in a manner he never thought possible. Because, it's strange, but he feels he belongs here, too. Under Roman's patient and loving grey gaze. His body aches, his heart is a nervous flutter but part of him can't seem to care as raven locks tickle his face, a clean wash cloth rubbing that pretty, pretty make up off his stubbled face.

In a flash, as anxious blues meet sympathetic greys, they kiss. Its open mouthed, but soft and loving and everything Roman has ever been to Dean and the auburn colored male sobs out against him. A weak but heard "I love you" and Roman replies the same.

Any other day Dean would protest this treatment, no matter how beat and battered he was but he doesn't fight it as Roman dries him off, his feet uneasy and unstable from being in those death traps called heels all night, and silently thanks Roman for sliding on a pair of the Samoan's own loose sweatpants, not even bothering with underwear.

Large, strong hands knead into Dean's aching flesh, so supportive and warm and caring he thinks he might start crying again. Then there's a kiss to his temple and Roman gently tilts his jaw forward, meeting Dean's gaze and there's a look of wonder in the older male's eyes.

"I knew Stoplight Red 911D would look good on you, baby boy."


End file.
